Page 6 of Laird of Sighs (His Highland Heart #5)

CHAPTER 6

A ilsa peeking at his backside amused Anders, but he hid the pleased grin her curiosity aroused in him as he settled down into the deliciously hot water. In moments, it seemed his whole body melted as the heat penetrated sore muscles and the water dissolved the remaining sea salt from his skin. It took all his control not to groan aloud.

When he could speak, he told her, “I’m in, lass. I could use yer help to wash my hair.” Damn, he should have turned around before he sat in the tub. She was behind him and he couldn’t see her expression or her posture. Was she embarrassed to help him? Afraid? Or, he hoped, eager? He had dreamed of a beautiful lass to wash his back. Ailsa was even more beautiful than any lass he could have imagined. He was eager for her touch on his skin.

She came up behind him, brushed the top of his shoulder to let him know she was there, and ran her fingers across his head. “Yer hair is almost stiff with salt and sweat from yer fever.” She soaked a washrag in one of the buckets and draped it over his head and neck.

Immediately, the heat and damp loosened his neck, and the last vestiges of his headache eased on a moan. The broth had helped some, but this, and Ailsa’s touch, did the rest.

“Did that hurt? How does it feel?”

He let go a sigh and leaned back. Her soft, warm middle cushioned the back of his head. “Better than ye ken, lass.” Too late, he wondered how much she could see below the water’s surface. He moved his hands to cover his lower half. And he realized he was probably soaking her dress.

“Can ye dunk yer head in the water?”

He didn’t want to move, but he leaned forward and removed the rag, plunged his head into the water, and sat back up. Water dripped into his face as he pushed hair out of his eyes. The sensation disturbed him for a moment. Because he’d come out of the sea dripping wet? He picked up the wash rag and used it to scrub his face and its growth of beard. How many days’ worth? He fingered the bristles and couldn’t decide.

“That’s good,” Ailsa told him. “I’m going to use some soap. Let me know if the cut on yer head stings.”

He dropped the washrag over his groin, leaned back and rested his arms on the top edge of the tub, depending on the sheen of soap on the surface of the water to help hide what was below it. Ailsa applied some soap and began working it through his hair, her fingers kneading and stroking his scalp, both soothing and arousing at the same time. Anders groaned aloud at the simple pleasure of her touch.

Immediately, Ailsa pulled her hands away. “Did I hurt ye?”

“Nay lass, just the opposite. Yer touch is worth everything I’ve been through since—” He stopped suddenly, searching for a memory of how he’d wound up injured on the beach. Nothing came to him.

Thankfully, Ailsa ignored his hesitation and went back to stroking his head. Anders marveled at how she affected him. When she traced soapy fingers into his beard, he leaned his head back on the edge of the tub and closed his eyes. The more she touched, swirling soapy hands down his throat and onto his chest, the more she aroused him. He would not have thought such a thing possible. His unruly groin proved he wasn’t as weak as he’d first supposed. When her hands continued below the waterline onto his belly, he straightened up and pulled them out of the water. “I can manage the rest,” he told her, “if ye will wash my back?” He made it a request. He had to, because what he really wanted was for her to continue going where she’d been.

“Of course,” she told him with a wicked gleam behind her smile. “Lean forward.”

She knew why he’d stopped her. He retrieved the wash rag and gave it to her, bent forward and wrapped his arms around his knees, grateful the position hid what her provocative smile had done to him. He’d hardened to the point of pain. If she didn’t finish soon, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself.

Finally, the sweet torture was over and Ailsa poured warm water over his head to rinse away the soap. “Stand up and I’ll rinse the rest of ye.”

And let her see what she’d done to him? “If ye dinna mind, I’d like to soak for a while. The hot water is soothing. Move the buckets by the tub and I will rinse myself when I’m ready. It must be near time for a meal. Ye must be hungry. Go. Ye dinna need to watch over me.”

“Ye could fall asleep in there and drown. Nay.”

“If I slide down, water in my face will wake me, dinna fash . Besides, the guard is just outside the door. I can call for help if need be. And the healer could return soon.”

Ailsa glanced toward the door. “I doubt she’ll be back before morning. Brana is having her first, and that could take hours yet.” She turned her gaze back to him. “Ye fear I willna like what I see.”

“Dinna be daft, lass.” He couldn’t recall having been given any complaints. Then again, he couldn’t recall much.

“I’ve seen a man before. I doubt ye are built any differently.”

“I’m a big man, lass. Everywhere.” He smirked, hoping she’d take the hint and leave without arguing further.

She didn’t.

“Then ye have naught to fear. I willna laugh.”

The more she goaded him, the more he wanted to react as he would when he and his brother went at each other. Wait. Brother? Of all times to have another memory emerge. Except it hadn’t really. He had no name, no image, no idea if the brother was younger or older, whether they got along or fought constantly, nothing.

Ailsa’s expression softened to one of concern as disappointment hollowed his belly, and must have showed on his face. “What’s amiss, Anders? I’ll turn my back if ye dinna want me to help ye, but I’ll feel better if I ken ye can get out of the tub and dress without falling on yer face.”

“Turn around. Ye are nay allowed to look.”

“I would never?—”

“Aye, ye would. I saw ye when I stripped and went to the tub.” She colored prettily, didn’t she?

“I …”

“Dinna think to lie to me, Ailsa. I will ken it if ye do.”

“How would ye ken? We’ve barely met.”

“Long enough, and I’m bare enough,” he said to ease the sting of his demand with a jest, “so, turn about.” He twirled a finger to punctuate his point.

She crossed her arms and huffed out a breath, but she did as he asked.

Anders stood and picked up the first bucket his questing fingers told him contained warm water. He wasn’t looking forward to using any of the cold water, though if his thoughts continued to stray to the woman with her back to him, he might need one of them, or more.

He lifted the bucket and tilted it, letting the warm water stream over his head and down his back. It felt so good to be rid of the itch from the dried salt on his skin. He picked up the next bucket and poured it down his chest, As he did, he glanced around. Ailsa faced away from him, but even the sight of her curves and glorious hair from the back made him hard. He gave in and reached for a bucket of cold water. That he dumped from waist high down his front, gritting his teeth on the oath the chill drew from him. But it did the job. When he caught his breath, he opened his eyes to Ailsa standing before him, a bath sheet held open just above her eye level. What had she seen?

“After three buckets of water, ye must be ready for this. I didna think ye could reach them.”

Had she seen all of him? And what he’d done to tamp down his reaction to her presence? He couldn’t see her face behind the bath sheet. “Thank ye, lass.” He took the sheet and wrapped it around his waist, gathering the excess material in front. He still stood in the tub, so the end dragged in the water, but at least now, he could move without exposing himself to her.

“Put a hand on my shoulder,” she advised, stepping close.

Touch her? How was he supposed to do that and not react to her again? “I can manage to leave a tub without help,” he told her, hoping his gruff tone would encourage her to step away.

Instead, she took his arm. “Ye have a leg wound. Ye may no’ be as steady on it as ye think. As long as I am here, I willna let ye fall.”

There was no arguing with this lass. She reminded him of … someone. Who? Anders closed his eyes and fought for control, then put a hand on her shoulder and stepped out of the tub. “See? I am well. Ye can release me now.”

Blessedly, Ailsa did so, but only to hand him another bath sheet. “Dry off. Yer clothes are clean and repaired, so ye can dress. Once ye can sit before me, I’ll dry yer hair.”

Her hand lifted as if she was going to reach for it, to stroke an errant curl off his forehead. He captured her hand in one of his. “I was right about ye.”

“About what?”

“That ye are a kind lass. I appreciate yer help, but truly, I can manage the rest on my own.”

“Ye might think so. Ye might even be able to, but I willna allow ye to risk it.”

“Has anyone ever mentioned how stubborn ye are?”

“Only ye and everyone else who kens me.”

Anders had to laugh at that, gratified that his chuckle made her laugh, too. Like the rest of her, she had a beautiful laugh. Sweetly musical and light-hearted. He wanted to hear it till the end of his days. Which might come as soon as her da got home. Especially if anyone found them like this, her standing so near, and him all but naked. “Turn yer back and I’ll dress,” he told her, doing his best to protect her and control the urges driving him toward taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless.

He longed to show her what he was made of. What he could do for her. If only he could remember when he’d learned how to please a lass. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t recall the lasses he’d loved, though he felt certain there had been some. Perhaps even many.

A cold sense of dread filled the pit of his stomach. Nor could he recall whether there was a special lass in his life. He didn’t think so. Surely he’d remember someone as important as a bride. But he vowed he would not risk hurting Ailsa if he wasn’t free to care for her as she deserved. As she had cared for him. He must wait until he knew who he was and whether he was betrothed or married. He couldn’t stand the thought of betraying any lass. Not Ailsa, and especially not any lass he loved enough to wed.

That certainty reassured him. Whoever he was, he cared about the women in his life.

Whoever they were. If there were any. Or if there was one.

But for now, he’d been standing long enough to feel his breath grow shallow and his legs weaken. He donned his clothes, sat on the bench and dried his feet, then put on his boots. “Yer souter did a masterful job of cleaning and repairing them,” he remarked. They’ve no’ looked this good in years.”

“Years? How many?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve nay notion. It just felt like the right thing to say.”

“How do ye feel?”

“Clean, thank ye, and tired. A cup of that ale wouldna go amiss, I think.”

She retrieved one and handed it to him. “Do ye feel up to something more than broth? I can ask Cook if she has any stew.”

“Aye, that would help.”

“Dinna move. I’ll be back before ye ken I’m gone.”

Little chance of that, Anders thought as he watched her exit and close the door behind her. She’d been away from him only for seconds, and already he missed her. What was happening to him? Was he simply grateful for her care? Or was there more to the desire for her he felt every time he looked at her, or heard her voice?

He rested his head on the wall at his back and closed his eyes, trying to remember a lass, any lass, from his life before he arrived here. Any clue that he would be free to pursue Ailsa. In a moment, he glimpsed a lass with chestnut hair toss a hawk into the air, but his memory followed the flight of the raptor and didn’t return to the lass, so he never got a clear look at her face. Suddenly, he saw himself. But the memory, or the vision, was strangely … wrong. He saw the man clearly, as if he was looking at another person, not the imperfect view of himself in the distortion of a polished metal mirror or a reflection at the edge of a loch. What did that mean? Who were these people?

The door opened, breaking his concentration. Ailsa entered with a tray, the mouthwatering scent of rich meat stew reaching him immediately. She set the tray on one of Maighread’s tables and beckoned him over. “Come, eat. This will make ye feel better. Cook guarantees it.” The scent of the stew was all the invitation he needed, but Ailsa’s grin had him on his feet faster than he thought himself capable.

After he ate, Ailsa toweled his hair dry and combed it out, another pleasure but one that nearly put him to sleep. She stood with him and walked a few circuits of the chamber at his side.

“I’d take ye outside,” she said, “but I’d have to explain about ye to more of the clan. They ken someone was carried in, but since ye ken so little about yerself, there’s been naught to share with anyone else. Rumors are swirling though, as ye might imagine. And another dozen lads and lasses saw ye today.”

Anders wished he had more to tell her, enough that he could be seen with her without causing comment.

“Besides,” she continued, “if ye are seen walking about, Da may decide ye belong in the dungeon or out of Sinclair altogether. Maighread doesna think ye are ready for either. So, we’ll keep ye safe in the herbal as long as we can.”

Anders was grateful, but the prospect of spending long days ahead within these four walls was as unwelcome as the notion of being consigned to a cell in the dungeon. Still, he saw the wisdom. He hadn’t recalled enough to be certain anything he said would not make his situation worse. With Ailsa’s help, he had to believe he’d soon be himself again. Whoever that was. Memories had come to him in his dreams, even day dreams he had to content himself with when he was left alone in the herbal. With no clothes, he had no way to leave it until now, and there was a guard on the door at all times. As grateful as he was for the care he’d been given, he wondered how long he could stand to remain here.

“Do ye recall where yer home is?”

“South, I think,” Anders told her as they made another circuit of the chamber, a frown of concentration revealing his struggle to dredge up memories.

“Nearly all of Scotland is south of here,” she chided, then smiled, letting him know she was teasing. “That’s a lot of countryside for ye to claim.”

“Mayhap I am the lost and forgotten king of Scotland.”

She snorted at that.

He looked out the open window at the low hills in the distance and the edge of a cliff and the water below it on the opposite side of the window’s view. The light was turning golden, a sign that the long, late summer day was near its ending. He turned his gaze back to her. “’Tis so beautiful here, I canna think why I would wish to leave.”

He hoped his expression would tell her he wasn’t talking about the scenery.

Stellan and his men rode into the MacKay bailey in late morning. The stable lads took their horses, freeing Stellan to collect the herb packets his men carried and take them to the MacKay healer, then search out Seamus. He didn’t have to look far. Seamus walked into the herbal as Stellan was finishing with the healer.

“There ye are,” Seamus said by way of greeting and clapped him on the back. “I was told ye had arrived.”

The healer told Stellan, “We’re grateful for the supplies ye brought. I’ll get to work.” She stepped to one of her tables and began breaking the packets’ wax seals and dumping their contents into a large wooden bowl.

Stellan looked from her to Seamus. “Is Anders here?”

“Nay. Why would he be? Did he come with ye? And get separated from ye?”

Stellan frowned at that news. Seamus didn’t know about the race. He couldn’t. Stellan and his men had left the morning after Seamus’ courier had brought the news. The courier was still at Sutherland, as Mariota’s guest, or perhaps on his way home to MacKay.

Stellan noticed the healer’s interest, so he told both of them what her request had sparked, and that Anders had chosen to sail to MacKay.

“That’s daft,” Seamus exclaimed. “And bloody dangerous.”

The healer stopped what she was doing and joined them. “What happened on yer way that ye think he’d arrive first?”

“We were delayed by a mudslide after the storm two nights ago,” Stellan told them. “We wouldha been here yesterday but we had to make our way around it. With good weather and favorable conditions in the Pentland Firth, Anders should have beaten us here. But perhaps they had to put in somewhere along the way because of the same storm that delayed us.”

Seamus’ expression turned serious. “We havena seen him yet.”

Where was Stellan’s twin? If only their boyhood connection was still strong. But it wasn’t. It had become tenuous, strengthened only by extremes of emotion or danger. He hadn’t felt Anders reaching out to him with a sense of peril. That gave him some comfort. Perhaps they’d been delayed by the storm two nights ago and put into shore to wait it out. If the seas were still too rough to attempt the Pentland Firth, waiting was their wisest course. That, or turning for home, depending on Stellan and his riders to reach MacKay.

Not knowing rankled. Something Stellan couldn’t name told him there was trouble.

“Ye’ll stay for the night,” Seamus offered as he gestured for Stellan to precede him out of the herbal. “Have a few good meals and a night or two in a soft bed before ye return to Sutherland, aye? Perhaps tomorrow will see Anders’ birlinn arrive.”

Seamus’ offer made sense, and after nights of camping in the wind and rain, the idea of a night in a warm bed tempted Stellan. His men deserved the same indulgence. But he couldn’t ignore the sensation in his gut of some nameless trouble tied to Anders. “We’ll impose on ye for a meal and a change of horses,” Stellan agreed as they entered the great hall and the scent of roasting meat and watered ale hit his nostrils, making his stomach growl, “but I’ll feel better if we ride east along the coast and see if we can spot them.”

“If ye go too far, ye’ll find yerself in Sinclair,” Seamus warned while gesturing him to a seat with the rest of his men and signaling for a meal to be brought to them.

“I ken it, but that border is more than a day’s ride away—nearly three to Sinclair’s Girnigoe Castle, aye? We’ll chance it. I dinna like that Anders is late.”

Seamus nodded. “I dinna recommend crossing the border into Sinclair. The auld laird isna a friend of yers—or mine. Or any of the northern clans, truth be told. He looks to Orkney and the Norse rather than his closer neighbors. While ye search, I'll send a man to Sutherland to tell yer da what ye are doing.”

Stellan almost told him not to, but if anything had gone wrong, their father would have to be told. He’d be furious, and Mariota would be frantic without some news if he and his men didn’t return on time. He’d promised to be back in her bed in a sennight or a wee more, but now he didn’t know when they would be able to return home. “I appreciate the offer, Seamus. Da and Mariota will, too. Thank ye.”

While they waited for their food, Stellan described the area of the mud slide that had delayed them and the route they’d used to get around it. Seamus’ courier would need that information to avoid the trouble they’d found along the way, and wondered if the courier who had brought Seamus’ original request had started yet for home.

Once they were served, Seamus said, “I hope ye willna be gone too long, but ye’ll have provisions to last a sennight to supplement what ye can find on the hunt. We could do with fewer coneys.” He grinned, then excused himself to go speak to their cook about packing supplies for a week’s travel and left them to their meal.

Stellan appreciated the care and cooperation. Mariota had chosen well when she named Seamus to replace her as Laird MacKay. While Stellan ate, he talked over tactics and routes with Tormund, his other men, and a MacKay scout Seamus had sent to answer their questions.

All too soon, they were ready to go. The MacKay stable lads who had taken their horses when they arrived were already shifting their saddles, tack, and belongings to fresh mounts.

With a grateful farewell to Seamus, they left the MacKay keep and headed east along the coastline. Seamus’ scout had told them where the rivers were safe to cross and warned them of bogs. He would go as far as the Sinclair border with them. After that, they would be on their own to travel as quickly as they were wont to do.

The countryside consisted of low, rolling hills, sandy bays, cliffs, and rugged insets where a boat might hide. It was not always easy to see down to the coastline. They risked standing on the edge of a cliff to peer down to the sea or what passed for a beach more times than Stellan wanted to recall.

The rest of the day passed more slowly than he would have liked. He kept his gaze on the sea, hoping to spot a Sutherland birlinn . He saw nothing but endless water and sky. Disquieted and disappointed, he called a halt as the late summer darkness fell, and they made camp.

“Anders’ birlinn could get by us in the dark,” his friend Tormund remarked.

“If they do, Seamus will send a ghillie after us.” Stellan hoped for exactly that. It would be the best outcome he could imagine.

Mariota was crossing the Sutherland bailey from the weaver’s workroom back to the keep when a MacKay ghillie arrived.

“Lady Mariota,” he cried when he saw her. “Well met. I have news for the Sutherland laird.” He slid off his horse and handed the reins to a lad who’d run out from the stable. “Walk her a wee to cool her,” he told the lad. “Please see she gets water and food. She’s traveled far.”

“Aye, I will,” the lad promised and led the horse away.

“What news, Bron? Is Stellan well? And his men?” Anxiety made her heart flutter, and the babe in her belly shifted in response.

“Aye, they’re well. There’s nay harm in telling ye the news I bring before I speak to the laird,” he added as they entered the great hall and Mariota gestured him toward the laird’s solar. “Anders’ ship hasna arrived yet. Stellan has gone to ride the coast and try to spot them.”

“Ach, nay!” She suddenly needed to sit down.

Bron stopped and took her hands, squeezing them between his. “ Dinna fash , milady. It doesna mean there’s trouble, only that they have traveled more slowly than they wished.”

Mariota wanted to believe that, but all she could think about was how the idea for this contest had come from her. From an innocent remark as they rode along the waters below Dunrobin. Guilt made her chest hollow out. What if Anders was lost at sea? Stellan would never recover from the loss of their men, much less his beloved twin.

“Milady?” Bron’s concerned tone snapped her out of her misery.

“Aye, the laird.” She led him in and introduced him. At Sutherland’s nod, she took a seat to the side of his work table.

Sutherland stood. “Ye have news? From Mariota’s expression, I willna like it.”

“’Tis only that Laird MacKay wished to keep ye aware of what has happened. Stellan and his men arrived well, though delayed by a storm and mudslide. Anders’ ship had not arrived by the time I left MacKay,” he continued.

Sutherland sank to his seat, his face going gray.

“It may have arrived there by now, Laird Sutherland. But even before I left to come here, Stellan rode out immediately to travel toward Sinclair along the coast to see if the birlinn is still on the way or beached, and to look for yer men. The MacKay is sending men after Stellan to pass along information. He will send news to ye as he learns more.”

Sutherland didn’t speak, but he clenched and unclenched his fist several times, and deep furrows divided his brows.

He looked anguished, but Mariota feared he was also tempted to throw out the MacKay man. The news Bron brought was not his fault, and he’d made a long, dangerous ride to bring it to them. She counted on Sutherland to remember that fact before he spoke.

She held her breath until Sutherland’s brow smoothed and he nodded.

“Ye are welcome to our hospitality. Food, drink, and a place to sleep until ye wish to return to MacKay. I thank ye for bringing me this news.”

“I wish ’twere better, Laird,” Bron told him.

Mariota was again amazed at Sutherland’s restraint. This news was potentially terrible. Heartbreaking. She could barely keep her seat. If Anders was lost at sea—something she had teased him about and that she now even more deeply regretted—and if Stellan went too far east and was taken prisoner by Sinclair, perhaps even killed, the Sutherland laird and clan might never recover from the loss of the twins. She wanted to pace, to give voice to her fears, but she would not do that in front of their father.

Still, her mind kept spinning out how different the future they’d planned would be without her beloved husband. Her son would be heir, but who would train him? His only remaining uncle, Cameron, was wed to the Rose chief Mary Elizabeth and would not want to return permanently to Sutherland. The current Sutherland might be too old by the time her son came of an age to begin his training—training that Stellan was meant to begin. She fought tears of fear and regret. The Sutherland arms master was a good man, but he was not the father. Stellan looked forward to undertaking his son’s early training. She would be strong for the twins’ father and for her son, and for the child she carried.

Mariota rose and took the MacKay ghillie out into the great hall where she had a serving lass take charge of him. Then she returned to the solar.

Sutherland had not moved while she was out of the chamber. He still stared off into space, and Mariota most certainly did not want to know where his thoughts took him. Her own were too dire.

“I must send Sutherland men north to Sinclair, and call in Rose and Brodie reinforcements to keep Dunrobin and all of ye safe,” Sutherland said.

He was planning to go after his sons. “We dinna yet ken what we are dealing with,” Mariota reminded him “God willing, both of the twins are safe at MacKay by now. Seamus will send news.” She thought he would argue with her. She even hoped he would. But all he did was slump in his seat.

“Ye are right, lass. ’Tis too soon to call in our allies.”

“Still, ’twould be wise to prepare missives to send. Just in case.” He was right that they would need men to reinforce the men—and her women archers—on Sutherland’s walls if he and most of his warriors headed north. But without knowing where Anders and Stellan were, taking an army north to Sinclair could incite the very violence they wanted to avoid.

She put a hand over her belly, breathing deeply for her bairn and to calm herself. Where was Stellan? Still safe in MacKay territory? Or venturing into Sinclair in search of his twin, heedless of the risks he took? Those questions made her heart hurt. She didn’t want her children growing up without their father. Nor could she imagine life without Stellan. She didn’t want to try, but if the worst happened, she would do what she must. She always had.